How Could He?
by NPeaches
Summary: Hermione reflects on some of Ron's mistakes concerning her, and constantly wonders, "How could he?" A new year, a new mistake for our poor friend Ron Weasley...
1. Troll

A/N: This is my first multi-chaptered story

_A/N: This is my first multi-chaptered story. Don't be too hard on me if it sucks._

**First Year**

How could he?

As I stand in the girls' bathroom, all I can think of as the tears are pouring down my face is:

He had to know how much I wanted to be his friend. He had to know how much I was looking forward to being his partner in Charms. How could he be so rude?

I was only trying to help! He was being so ignorant and stubborn, and I was only trying to teach him how to say the spell properly! How could he be so unappreciative of the hand I was lending him, trying to improve his spellwork so he could do well in class?

Wait, you're probably wondering what I'm talking about. And why I'm crying in a stall in the girls' toilet. So I'll start from the beginning.

On the Hogwarts Express on the way to school, I was so nervous yet extremely excited to be starting school. I was completely prepared, having already changed into my school robes and having studied all of my course books. I wasn't sure about making new friends, as that had always been difficult even when I was little in my Muggle school. I was optimistic though. I even made an effort to talk to Harry Potter and his _stupid red-headed friend_, although I'm not sure my advice and small talk was much appreciated.

When my lack of the ability to make friends became painfully obvious and unavoidable to me, I began grasping at straws, using methods of meeting new people that were perhaps illogically thought out, such as offering to help someone with their homework and then correcting the whole assignment, or boasting about my achievements in Transfiguration, thinking that someone would find my being able to turn a match into a needle impressive and immediately want to be my friend. What can I say? I was desperate!

I wanted to be included in someone else's life, to be able to share my feelings with another person, to depend of them and care for them. I could not find that kind of relationship with Lavender or Parvati: they were just too unlike me, giggling all the time and fussing with their hair.

I decided to turn to the boys. Maybe I could fit in with them. Dean and Seamus had each other, but maybe I could find a place with them. It would seem that I could get along with Dean, since he was also from a Muggle home, but all he cared about was sports, and Seamus was too…boyish, for want of a better word. He did not seem like the kind of person who would accept me; rather he would be the kind of person to laugh at my bookishness, my hair, my teeth.

I observed Neville next. He seemed like a nice, sweet boy who could use a little of my help, especially in the Potions area. Plus, he didn't really seem to have anybody else, just like me. I began to give him tips and advice concerning our lessons and homework, and he seemed to appreciate my help. I thought I had found my perfect match. But then he got a little clingy and needy, and believe me, he probably did need me, but I didn't want to be in a one-way friendship either. I decided to be helpful and kind and understanding, but I could not be his best friend. Neville sort of eased my anxiety about finding friends a little, but I was looking for someone who I could spend all my time with, and always care for.

My only other option for boys in my year and house was Harry and Ron. Ron could be kind of like Seamus sometimes, rude and insensitive, but Harry, I could tell, was different. He didn't sneer in people's faces or laugh at them, and he didn't really judge them the way I could tell most people judged me. And he definitely had some influence on Ron. Like if Ron said something nasty about someone, he wouldn't just stand there, but he would say something to Ron about it. And I could tell he was a loyal friend when first, he chose Ron, without hesitation, over Draco, and second, when he risked expulsion to stand up for Neville and retrieve his Remembrall from Draco. Ron really wasn't all that horrible, but he had his moments.

Which brings me back to the incident that brought me here to this dank and smelly bathroom.

We were sitting in Charms class, about to finally learn how to levitate objects, something I had been excited to do since Professor Flitwick had demonstrated it in class and told us we'd be able to do it soon too. I got paired up with Ron, and I'd thought to myself, _This is the perfect opportunity to get to know him, and to show him what a great, smart friend you can be._

And then he was saying the spell all wrong, and I needed to show him how to say it correctly, or else we would never get our feather into the air. So I told him, "You're saying it wrong. It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

And he snapped back, "You do it then, if you're so clever."

What else could I do but respond to the challenge?

I rolled up my sleeves and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

And the feather actually levitated! I was so excited that I'd accomplished this goal of mine and had done magic that I didn't even notice that Ron wasn't congratulating me or commenting on my nice spellwork, though I got plenty of praise from Professor Flitwick. I didn't realize he would resent my intended help.

Which is why I guess I was so surprised when I overheard Ron saying, "No wonder no one can stand her, she's a nightmare, honestly."

I guess what hurt the most was not that Ron had said something so insulting about me. It was the fact that he had confirmed my worst fears: that no one could tolerate me even a little bit, that no one liked me, even though no one had made any attempt to even get to know me. That knowledge is what made knock past Harry and _his stupid red-headed friend_, as I shall from now on refer to him, with tears threatening to escape my eyes.

Now I'm sitting here, skipping what should have been a very enjoyable Halloween feast, and I can't help but hate Ron, yet still forgive him internally. Because something about him still leaves me anxious for more of his company, still has me thinking about him and wondering what he is doing and thinking right now. I wonder why that is…

I decide to leave the depressing stall and get some fresh air outside of this morose bathroom, when suddenly I see something that makes my skin crawl, and I can't help wishing that a certain red-head would come to my rescue at this very minute…

_A/N: Okay I need reviews to tell me whether it sucks or not, because I have a lot of ideas concerning future chapters in this story, but I need some encouragement. Please review!!_


	2. That Stupid Rat

Chapter 2That Stupid Rat

**Chapter 2That Stupid Rat**

_A/N: All right, here's Chapter 2, although I'm beginning to feel like a failure since I only have 3 reviews so far sobs. I'm doing this just for the hell of it, but I need some encouragement cough cough_

**Third Year**

How could he?

How dare he suggest that my cat had anything to do with the fact that he can't keep tabs on his pet for longer than five minutes at a time? I don't really understand his strange aversion to my cat, but he has to get over it and move on. Besides, wasn't he always complaining about that _stupid_ rat anyway?

That tiny, titchy little thing didn't do a damn thing all day, Ron had absolutely no feeling for it, and only now that he suddenly seems to have died Ron cares?

He's put me through hell, he has, always going on about Scabbers, as if he was always the center of our conversations. Ron's just upset because the only damn thing he can call his own, if he can even call that rat his own, has gone off mysteriously, or may even be dead. But my adorable Crookshanks really hasn't got anything to do with it, I'm sure of it! All he does is act like a cat! It's perfectly normal for a cat to chase after a rat, but according to Ron, it must be because he has some sort of vindictive passion to kill a rat that hasn't done anything to offend him at all—and of course, Ron's logic is _always _entirely plausible, isn't it!

Again, let me start from the beginning.

At the end of August, I left my parents' house for Ron's, because it was almost time for school, and I wanted to enjoy some time with my friends before we left for school, and of course it would be much easier to get all my books for my new courses, and to get to the train if I stayed with the Weasleys. I had my early birthday money, and I was so excited to see Ron and Harry again after my vacation in France. Plus, I wanted to hear all about Ron's trip to Egypt, which I would have loved to go to because of all the fantastic ancient pyramids and sites there.

When I got to Ron's house, we spent all our time together, having fun going off into the village or just eating his mum's fabulous food, or hanging out in his room for a while. I've always thoroughly enjoyed going to Ron's house, although it is a bit loud and crowded for my taste, but that's how it's always been in the Burrow, and it's sort of grown on me.

Then I heard about what Harry got up to over the summer. Oh, how does he manage to do these things? He shouldn't be allowed to live without one of us constantly watching over him. Blowing up his aunt!! What was he thinking!? I can't believe that we leave him alone for two months and he manages to do more underage magic! Okay, I'll give it to him; he really isn't to blame for that first time. But still, it's like he needs to have someone around all the time to keep him in check! He's thirteen years old; can't he take some responsibility for his actions?

And _then_ I heard about his encounter with Fudge. Thank God he wasn't expelled, but still, that kind of leniency can only be allowed to Harry Potter. I bet Ron inwardly stewed over that one, because he's always been kind of jealous about Harry's fame and the fact that pretty much everything slides when it comes to him.

By then I was living with one foot out the door, anxious to see Harry and to know how he was holding up, until finally we got to Diagon Alley during one of the last days of our holiday. We were in Diagon Alley; we had met up with Harry and had spent the day getting the rest of our supplies for term, although really I was just enjoying the ice cream Harry had treated me to, as I had already purchased all my needed apparel for the term.

By the end of the day, we were all laden with packages, and I with some leftover birthday money, and I was itching to spend it. And thinking back, I was always jealous that Harry and Ron had pets, companions of sorts. I realized that there was always a void there, that when I was feeling lonely or sad, I wished I had a silent comforter there to help me through it. So I decided to buy a pet. It was a sort of drastic move on my part, as I always think about an issue for days before deciding on a course of action. Although I did give this pet thing a bit of thought, there wasn't as much mulling over involved in making this decision as I was used to, so it was almost blatantly spontaneous for me.

Harry suggested that we go to the Magical Menagerie to look for an owl, as an owl was always the pet I envisioned who would give me some companionship, just like Hedwig always did for Harry. We got there, and I was blown away at the large range of pets there were: exotic animals, magical animals, wild animals, or just regular, domesticated animals that would not have looked out of place at a normal Muggle pet shop.

As Ron was asking the lady behind the counter about a tonic for Scabbers, this large, ginger cat came from out of nowhere and flew at Ron's head. As soon as I was sure that the cat had not decapitated my poor, irritable friend, I immediately started bursting with giggles. I couldn't stop laughing at the furious expression on Ron's face, or his and the cat's wild chase of Scabbers. It was madness, the cat chasing after the poor, frightened, scurrying rat, and Ron pursuing the cat with a murderous glint in his eye. Then I instantly wanted to shout at Ron for scaring that poor cat out of its wits. I was having very conflicting emotions at the time, and I want to laugh out loud just thinking about it now, but that would hardly be appropriate under the present circumstances (I'll explain later).

Soon Ron found Scabbers, quaking in fear, and he promptly left the shop with a lump-shaped rat in his pocket. He was so angry that he forgot his rat tonic on the counter of the shop. I took a long, hard look at the cat that had attacked Ron, and I realized that he was cute. His face was a bit squashed, but that just added to his general cuteness. He had bottlebrush tail and was ginger all over. I guess the reason I was really drawn to him was that he almost reminded me of Ron in a funny way. I guess mostly it was the color, but it was also the air of being kind of grouchy, yet content in a way. Being satisfied that he had caused a bit of mayhem, glad to know he had caught my attention. So I thought, what the hell, I might as well be a little more original than just settling for an owl. This way, Ron had a rat, Harry had an owl, and I had a cat.

I bought him, and I took him outside with Ron's rat tonic. I think seeing Ron's face when he saw me with Crookshanks was almost worth all the grief I got later because of him. I was just reminded so much of Ron's expression when my cat had jumped on his head, and that was one of my funniest memories.

I soon found out that Ron's hatred of my cat went far beyond the grudge of their first encounter. It was all about Scabbers now, all about how just because my cat was following his natural instinct, all of a sudden he was a murderous, good for nothing pest. I never believed that Crookshanks had killed that _stupid_ rat. And I was right wasn't I? Scabbers just ran away again. He was never _dead._ But Ron couldn't just accept that his rat had done a bunk on him. He had to jump to the worst possible conclusion: that Scabbers had been brutally murdered, and that my cat was responsible.

He didn't talk to me for _weeks_, the stupid git, over a freaking rat! He had to pick a rat that he didn't even particularly care for over his friend, someone he's supposed to trust. He had to have this freaky grudge on my cat. What kind of idiot gets into it with a cat?! I think that was a new low for him.

And then, after a while, I didn't try anymore. Everything I did just seemed to make him hate me more. I was just looking out for Harry when I told Professor McGonagall about Harry's Firebolt. I only did it because I was genuinely concerned for his safety. How could he be sure that it wasn't some "gift" from Sirius Black, a cursed broom, something that could only kill him too easily. But no, I was the bad guy for caring about my friend.

And I was only trying to calm Lavender down about her little bunny that was killed, I wasn't trying to give off the vibe that I didn't care about her pet or her feelings, but of course Ron had to bite my head off about not taking anyone else's pets into consideration. God, it was like I couldn't talk without insulting someone and undermining their feelings for their pets. And since when did pets become _so_ important?!

Next came the trouble of Hagrid and _his_ pet. Buckbeak was being sentenced to death, and I single-handedly tried to come up with a good case for him. Ron and Harry didn't give a shit about Buckbeak anymore, which just shows how much compassion they _really _had for animals. What an ironic twist that was: There I was, a completely selfish and non-caring person, according to Ron, trying to help save a hippogriff's life! And what were they doing, the kind, compassionate ones of the bunch? Sitting around on their lazy arses all day, complaining about not having a possibly cursed broom to entertain themselves with! That just shows how much _they_ cared!

Well, Buckbeak lost his "trial", and the idiots came to their senses and began to help me prepare material for the appeal. Thank God for that! I don't know how much more I could have taken of sitting in Hagrid's hut while he sobbed in my ear for hours while at the same time attempting to concentrate on helping him. I'm definitely glad they came around and decided to help me.

The appeal, as we suspected it would, crashed and burned to the ground. Buckbeak was going to be executed, and there was nothing we could do about it. On the day of, we went down to Hagrid's hut, because we really wanted to be there during his time of need, to be able to comfort him. And you wouldn't _believe_ who turned up there! You guessed it—that _stupid, stinking rat!!_ I told him. That's all I can say. I. Told. Him. He didn't believe me, did he? He didn't care about my feelings at all, did he? He didn't care that he was causing me so much pain by simply ignoring me or making jibes about my supposed inability to feel compassion for anyone but myself and my cat, did he? All because of a stupid rat who WASN'T EVEN DEAD!!

Although, as I stand here now, hundreds of feet away from Hagrid's house, and I know what is about to happen there, I know it really isn't about the pets. And I realize that however much anger and pain he had caused me to feel, I can't stay angry at him. Because I need him right now, at the time when I feel helpless and like a complete failure, having had all of my efforts gone to waste. He is the light shining at the end of this very long, metaphoric tunnel that I am walking through. I know that he'll always be there to comfort me when I'm going through times like this, when I don't know what exactly to do with myself, because all the happiness has left me, as if a Dementor has just entered the room. I need him to be there, to always be there to rescue me, because I know that he can, and that he will.

_A/N: I had a lot more fun with this one, because I really enjoy ranting, and we all know that Hermione is always one to supply a good rant. I hope this chapter was better than the first and that they continue to get better. Next up is 4__th__ year!_


	3. The Viktor Krum

A/N: I know this one took a little longer to post, sorry

_A/N: I know this one took a little longer to post, sorry. I just started school again, so it's been busy busy busy. Fourth year is here, and we all know what _that_ entails…_

**Fourth Year**

How could he?

How _dare_ he?

I am so mad; I hardly know where to begin! You want to know what I'm thinking as I pull off this stupid dress, the one that I thought would catch his attention most, these shoes, which are really not made for dancing, as I remove all the make-up and hair products from myself? I'm thinking, _How can I have even _considered_ Ron at _all_?!_

I didn't realize until McGonagall even _mentioned_ the Yule Ball that I could _possibly_ even like Ron. I mean, I always considered him to be one of my closest friends, maybe even closer that Harry. But when I heard about the Yule Ball, this image suddenly popped into my head. I was in this ridiculously frilly dress with my hair all done up, and I actually looked pretty nice, apart from the fact that I looked absolutely nothing like me. I'm ugly, remember?

Anyway, I wasn't just standing there at the dance all dolled up by myself, obviously, although considering how I never seem to attract anybody, that was definitely a possibility for me. I had a…escort, you could call it, but that just seems incredibly old-fashioned. For the sake of sounding my age, I had a date. I didn't picture myself with Dean or Seamus, for as I've already told you before, neither of them holds much interest for me. Neville would seem like a well-suited date for me, considering that I know him well and have helped him out God knows how many times, but I see Neville as nothing but a sweet friend. Harry—absolutely not. There is no attraction to him there. He's one of my best friends, definitely not the person I could _see_ myself with, even for a school dance. No, I pictured Ron.

As shocked as I was myself to have even imagined Ron with me, it sort of felt…right. It made me kind of uneasy at first, because Ron was my _friend._ And I couldn't imagine a less compatible couple than Ron and me. We were constantly fighting and bickering about the littlest insignificant things that were hardly worth arguing about. It kind of unsettled me that I imagined myself with Ron that way, because what if that feeling didn't go away, and he didn't like me back. Or worse, what if he did like me back, and we started dating, and then we broke up? Which I could completely see happening, considering all the fighting we do.

But as I said, it did kind of feel right, because I couldn't really imagine anyone else that I would want to hold me in his arms and sway across a dance floor to posh classical music conducted by a midget. After that first image was planted in my head, I couldn't get it out, and I couldn't ignore it. The fantasies extended to Ron holding my hand the whole night and getting me butterbeer, and dancing with me for four hours straight. And as the night drew to a close in my mind, I couldn't help but imagine that he would walk me to the bottom of the staircase and lean in for a goodnight kiss…

Whoa, whoa, wait! I am not supposed to be thinking this way. I'm supposed to be extremely angry with this prat, not fantasizing about him! Okay, let me continue my story.

So the days passed after McGonagall's announcement, and I was waiting anxiously for some signs of life from Ron, but he remained as stoic and in his not-asking-Hermione-to-the-ball mode as ever. I was becoming _pretty_ impatient, as you can imagine.

One day I pretty much gave up all hope that Ron was ever going to ask me. All three of us were sitting in the common room, and I was badgering Harry about his egg as had become my habit, and Ron was busying himself with building a house out of Exploding Snap cards rather than preparing for Snape's rather nasty antidotes test.

When the cards all funnily exploded in Ron's face and pretty much obliterated his eyebrows, Fred and George came up to us to ask Ron about something or other, and the subject of Yule Ball dates came up. Fred asked Angelina, and then the twins left.

Ron said to Harry, "We _should_ get a move on, you know…ask someone. He's right. We don't want to end up with a pair of trolls."

I immediately just froze. Was _that_ why Ron hadn't asked me? Because he thought of me as a _troll?_

"A pair of…what, excuse me?" I spluttered out.

"Well, you know, "Ron said indifferently. "I'd rather go alone than with — with Eloise Midgen, say."

I argued, "Her acne's loads better lately — and she's really nice!"

"Her nose is off-center."

_Oh my God_, I could not help thinking. If Ron cared about trivial things like nose placement, he could not care at all about me, because, I mean, _look at me_! I have the bushiest, frizziest hair ever, and I'm just painfully average. I look no sight nicer than Eloise Midgen, if you ask me. And there was no possible way that I wanted to go to the Yule Ball with Ron anymore, because he just showed me how shallow he really is. If he can't appreciate a girl for her mind and positive qualities, then I want to have nothing to do with him romance-wise.

"Oh I see," I said, my temper rising. "So basically, you're going to take the best-looking girl who'll have you, even if she's completely horrible?"

"Er — yeah, that sounds about right," said Ron.

"I'm going to bed," I snapped at him, and I stormed off to my dormitory.

I gave up on Ron Weasley that day.

During that awful period of time when Harry and Ron weren't speaking, Harry spent most of his time with me. As my favorite place to be was the library, he followed me there almost every day. Anyway, when Harry and I were busy reading books and whispering quietly to each other, I would always notice Viktor Krum in my peripheral vision skulking around sections of the library. I didn't think much of it; he was probably researching for the tasks, and he wasn't really bothering me…until his fan club arrived.

Madam Pince and I were perhaps the most aggravated people in the entire library when those silly girls were traipsing around, wondering aloud with what and on which part of their bodies Viktor would write his autograph. I became so irritated with his mere presence that I kind of failed to notice that every day, he was always _near_ me. Never once had I seen him looking at books that were not in my general vicinity.

Well, that day after Ron had basically called me a troll to my face, I decided that I would not continue to wait for him pointlessly to come over and just ask me to the stupid ball already. I'd had enough of waiting, and I had pretty much lost all interest. But I had one regret: I had thought that I'd known my friend well enough that I would have seen his shallowness before this. I was disappointed that my view of him had changed for the worse.

One day when I was — you guessed it — in the library, I saw Viktor Krum yet again trying to make himself look small amongst the bookshelves. I decided to walk up to him on the pretext of perusing the bookshelf next to him. He muttered a "hello" to me.

I said casually, "Oh, hello. You're Viktor Krum, right?"

"Yes," he said. _Not much of a talker, this one,_ I thought.

We were silent for a minute, and I pretended to browse a lower shelf. He said to me, "Vot is your name?"

I said quietly, "Hermione Granger."

He looked a little confused. "Could you repeat that, please?"

"Sure," I said patiently. "HER-MI-O-NE."

The confused expression stayed glued to his face. "Hermy-own-ninny?"

"Not quite," I said, laughing a little. "But it's close enough, I suppose."

He looked a little sheepish and said, "Hermy-own-ninny, I have been meaning to ask you something for a vile. I know ve don't really know each other, but vood you like to go to the ball vith me?"

He looked a little flushed, and I felt a rush of pity toward him. How hard it must have been to gather up the courage to talk to someone you didn't know, let alone ask them out. Then I felt the same confusion that he felt earlier when he was trying to figure out my name. Why in the world would an international Quidditch player want to go to the Yule Ball with _me?_ Was he out of his mind?

I felt a little flustered as I answered hesitantly, "Erm—all right, then."

His features relaxed a bit at my consent to accompany him to the ball, and he said with a bit of a blush, "I am very glad. You know, the only reason I haff been coming to the library every day vos to ask you, but I alvays became too afraid at the last minute. I am happy that you are coming vith me."

"Yeah," I agreed, "I'm glad too."

Well, that solved my problem of having a date for the ball. I was pretty ecstatic about it. I could finally get over Ron and enjoy this ball. No one would ever believe me if I told them that _the_ Viktor Krum had asked me to the ball. Of course I told Ginny, and she was so happy for me. But I couldn't tell Ron or Harry. I couldn't tell Harry, because then he would tell Ron, and I _definitely_ did not want Ron knowing about this. First of all, he would laugh at me, or worse he wouldn't believe me, because if he didn't consider me worthy enough for himself, why in the world would Viktor Krum choose me?

A few days later, as I was leaving Potions, Neville came up to me, very pink in the face, and obviously embarrassed about something. He said in a small, high-pitched voice, "Her-Hermione, w-will you g-go to the b-ball with m-me?"

I instantly felt so sorry for him. Poor Neville. " He noticed my hesitation and said quickly, jumbling the words together, "I mean, I just thought, because you're always so nice to me and you help me a lot, and I thought, you know, that you might want to go…" His voiced trailed off when I still had said nothing.

"Oh, Neville, I'm sorry," I said when I realized he was still waiting for an answer. His face fell. "Oh, Neville, it's not that I wouldn't love to go with you, it's just that somebody else has already asked me. I'm so sorry."

"It's all right, Hermione. I understand." His round face was a burning shade that could rival even Ron's. He walked away, shuffling his feet.

That night, neither Ron nor Harry showed up at dinner. I rushed through my steak-and-kidney pie and hurried up to the common room to see if they were there. Indeed they were. When I asked why they had both failed to show up to dinner, Ginny told me how they had both been turned down by girls they had asked to the ball. I felt just a little smug when I heard that. _Good,_ I thought,_ let him know what it feels like to not be wanted._

"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" I asked loftily. Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I'm sure you'll find someone _somewhere _who'll have you."

Then Ron was staring at me as if I were some kind of apparition, like he was having an epiphany of some sort.

"Hermione, Neville's right — you _are_ a girl…."

That hit me hard. Did he just now notice, after three and some odd years? God, he must have been dropped on his head many a time as a child for him not to recognize a girl when he saw one. I really just wanted to slap him upside the head at the moment.

"Oh well spotted," I said icily.

"Well—you can come with one of us!"

Now he thinks of it!? God, how thick can he get? That's all I wanted right from the beginning, and now that it's too late he wants to take me. Then a small voice in the back of my head spoke. _He's just asking you because he has no one else. He's just asking you as a last resort. He doesn't really want you._

"No, I can't," I snapped.

"Oh come on," he said, "we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has…"

I blushed furiously as I told him, "I can't come with you, because I'm already going with someone." While I said this, I almost wished I didn't have to. I almost yearned to be able to tell him yes, to tell him that I would never want to go with anyone but him. I almost regretted saying yes to Viktor Krum. Almost.

"No, you're not!" said Ron, "You just said that to get rid of Neville!"

How _dare_ he! I would never do something so heartless to a friend! What did he think of me? Did he really think I would do something so low?

"Oh _did_ I?" I said angrily. "Just because it's taken _you_ three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one _else_ has spotted I'm a girl!"

He just stared at me. How much of an idiot could he be? Then a huge grin broke out over his face.

"Okay, okay, we know you're a girl," he said. "That do? Will you come now?"

My God, did he not understand simple English?

"I've already told you!" I practically shouted at him. "I'm going with someone else!"

Then I stormed off to my dormitory. I seem to do that a lot, don't I?

Throughout the whole week leading up to Christmas, Ron kept up a constant stream of "Hermione, who are you going to the ball with?" and "Hermione, will you _please_ just tell us who you're going with?"

And I had the same answer for him every single time. "No," I would say ardently. And then he and Harry _finally_ noticed that my teeth were a normal size. Was it only now that they noticed _anything_ about me?

Christmas morning was just a ball of jittery nerves in my stomach for me. I woke up to a small mound of presents, and after I had opened them I went down to breakfast with Harry and Ron. Rather than join the hour-long Weasley-with-a-bit-of-Potter snow fight, I simply sat and watched.

At five o'clock I decided that I would have to go get ready, because as only someone with my kind of hair would know, it could take hours to make myself presentable for the ball, and I had to work extra hard to make sure I looked magnificent if I was going to make Ron a miserable boy tonight. I figured this was my only hope of revenge against Ron. I had to anger him as much as possible, and I knew that on top of going with Viktor Krum, it would infuriate him even more to see what he _could_ have had, if he had only asked me earlier in the game.

As I was going up to the castle, Ron shouted his last "Who're you going with?" but I just smiled and waved. He would find out soon enough…

Up in my dormitory, I quickly rummaged underneath my bed for a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion that I had bought in Diagon Alley before term started. This would be my secret weapon. And the gorgeous blue dress robes I got from Madam Malkin's that I would be wearing for the night.

It really took the whole three hours just to get ready, between the hair potion, the make-up, and the dress robes. My hair was up in an elegant bun, and my make-up looked pretty good for my first time wearing it.

I walked silently down through the entrance hall and out to the lake where the Durmstrangs were lined up. Viktor saw me and sprinted up to me, taking my hand and kissing it lightly. "Hello, Hermione. You look vunderful."

I blushed slightly. "Th-thanks, Viktor. I'm so glad that you asked me to the ball." Which was technically true, even if I did have a teensy ulterior motive. But I wasn't about to tell him that to his face.

We were placed at the head of the line, and Karkaroff led us to the castle. He kept glancing back at the pair of us, a disgruntled expression plastered on his face. I guessed that he was not too happy that Viktor had chosen me as his date. I couldn't imagine why it bothered him, or why he thought that it concerned him, but I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. That was the least of my worries right now. I was pretty anxious to get to Ron; I just had to see his face when he saw me and realized who my date was. I worked to relax my body, and I put a smile on my face. After a while, it didn't seem so forced. I could tell that I was going to enjoy this ball.

How very wrong I was.

It all started out all right. We entered the Great Hall, which was decorated beautifully.

Sadly, I did not see Ron's expression when he saw me and Viktor together, but I did get to witness Harry's reaction, a nice dropping of the jaw, which had me greatly satisfied.

We sat down to eat at the head table near Harry and Parvati, and Viktor described the beauty of the Durmstrang castle. It was fascinating to hear about the castle, because I could never find anything in writing about it, as Durmstrang was so insistent on the secrecy nonsense. I tried again to get Viktor to pronounce my name correctly, but it was a wasted effort. I decided to leave good enough alone. I mean, if Viktor liked it, why couldn't I be Herm-own-ninny?

Viktor and I and the other champions and their partners opened the dance, and we remained on the dance floor. I was rather enjoying myself. It was nice to have his arms around me, leading me around the dance floor. But I felt very self-conscious about dancing with Viktor when I knew that everybody's eyes were on me. I was sure that they were all wondering the same thing: _Who does this girl think she _is? _Why in the world would _Viktor Krum_ ever ask _her_ to the dance?_ Believe me, I was wondering the same thing during the entire ball. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Viktor's library fan club stalking past me, throwing me daggers with their eyes. Despite this insecurity, I felt sort of like a princess. This night was like a dream come true in a way, except for one tiny flaw in the picture. I was dancing with the wrong guy; I could feel it right away, but there was nothing I could do about it.

After at least forty-five minutes of straight dancing, I was getting a little hot and worn out. Now this is the part of my story that really gets me mad, and is the reason that I have been regaling you with this rambling anecdote of my first ball.

"Viktor's just gone to get some drinks," I said wispily while I sat down next to Harry and Ron and fanned my face with my hand.

Ron gave me the most hostile look I have ever seen cross his features. _Good, now he knows what it feels like to be hurt by his friend, _I thought with vindictive happiness. "_Viktor?_" he said. "Hasn't he asked you to call him _Vicky_ yet?"

I looked up at him innocently, with what I hoped looked like genuine surprise, "What's up with you?"

"If you don't know," he said in his nastiest voice, "I'm not going to tell you."

I felt an immense satisfaction as his face contorted with vexation. I looked from him to Harry. Harry just shrugged noncommittally, so I had no idea what he thought of me going to the ball with Viktor.

I continued to play dumb. "Ron, what—?"

He cut me off. "He's from Durmstrang! He's competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You — you're — " Ron searched for the word frantically in his mind. "_Fraternizing with the enemy,_ that's what you're doing!"

Up until that point, everything I said was just said to gauge his reaction, and I felt pleasure at every annoyed word that came from his mouth. But when he said this, I was utterly shocked. I couldn't believe he could lower himself to such a level as to accuse me of "_fraternizing with the enemy._" And how could he think of Viktor as the _enemy??_ At that moment, I had no control over what came out of my mouth. I was in a furious rage, and nothing he could say would stop me.

My mouth fell open in horror.

"Don't be so stupid!" I shouted at him. "The _enemy_! Honestly—who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who's got a model of him up in their dormitory?"

Ron acted as if I hadn't spoken and continued on his ridiculous tirade. "I s'pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?"

"Yes, he did," I said, and as I said it I could feel my face heating up. "So what?"

"What happened—trying to get him to join _spew_, were you?"

Must he insist on calling it _spew?_

"No, I wasn't! If you _really_ want to know, he—he said he'd been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage!" I said in a rush, my face flushing even more, if that was even possible.

"Yeah, well—that's his story."

That brought me up short. _What?_

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Obvious, isn't it?" he spat back. "He's Karkaroff's student, isn't he? He knows who you hang around with….He's just trying to get closer to Harry—get inside information on him—or get near enough to jinx him—"

I froze. How _dare_ he? I hoped to God that Viktor was still busy with the drinks, although with my luck he could have been standing right behind me right now, hearing all the positively atrocious things that Ron was saying.

I was so angry, when I spoke my voice shook. "For your information, he hasn't asked me _one single thing_ about Harry, not one—"

Ron could see that this argument would not end in his favor, so he changed tack immediately.

"Then he's hoping you'll help him find out what his egg means! I suppose you've been putting your heads together during those cozy little library sessions—"

Didn't he think that Viktor might have asked me because _maybe _he _liked_ me? Why did someone have to have an excuse to be attracted to me? God, he could be _so_ insulting! Was it really so hard to believe that someone out there may find me just the teensiest bit _appealing_? And how, just how, could Ron think so little of me? Harry is my friend! I wouldn't just stab him in the back like that, like Ron did. _I_ had a sense of loyalty in me, unlike _some people._

"I'd _never_ help him work out that egg!" I said, outraged. "_Never._ How could you say something like that—I want Harry to win the tournament, Harry knows that, don't you Harry?"

I turned to him desperately, hoping that he wasn't thinking the same as Ron. He had to know that I was rooting for him all the way. Why would I dedicate so much time and effort to helping him if I would just leave his side to help someone I barely knew?

"You've got a funny way of showing it," Ron said nastily.

_Oh, please. _"This whole tournament's supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and making friends with them!" I said hotly.

"No it isn't!" Ron said rather loudly. "It's about winning!" I pulled myself out of this heated bubble when I noticed that this conversation was no longer private. People were beginning to stare at us shamelessly.

Harry stated that he didn't have a problem with me coming to the ball with Viktor, and I felt a small weight lift from my heart. At least _he_ didn't think of me as a back-stabbing bitch. But that was only one tiny stone chipped off of the huge boulder I felt was weighing me down, and it was getting heavier with every hurtful word that Ron sneered at me.

"Why don't you go and find Vicky, he'll be wondering where you are," said Ron scathingly.

I could think of nothing else to say as I jumped to my feet and stormed off (yet again) but a shrill "_Don't call him Vicky!_"

I ran across the room and up the stairs on the long trek to the seventh floor. I felt bad about leaving Viktor at the ball, but I just had to get away. I would apologize to him later. I sat fuming in an armchair by the fire, just thinking very angry thoughts about Ron. By now, my hair was in disarray. Several large chunks had fallen out of the bun they had been in, and it was already beginning to loose some of its shine and sleekness.

How could he do this to me! How could he think such ridiculous about Viktor, and especially about _me!_ He acts as if he hasn't known me for three and a half years, like he's only just meeting me and finding stuff out about my personality and character. It's like I'm seeing someone different from the boy who I used to know. Some jealous (dare I say it) creature who can't stand the fact that he had to go to the ball with someone he didn't even know, and I got to go with an international Quidditch player. Well, it wasn't my fault that he hadn't asked me earlier on. That's what you get, I say.

As I was brooding over my heated argument with Ron, the said red-head stormed into the common room, red in the face and muttering incoherently to himself. He stopped short when he saw me, his chest puffing out as if he was about to begin another long, winding rant about how I was a horrible, untrustworthy friend. I didn't want to hear it.

"What are you doing here?" he asked bluntly, clearly taken aback.

"Oh, nothing, just imagining what will happen tomorrow at my next cozy library session with Viktor…" I said bitingly, measuring his expression.

He seemed to get even redder at this remark. I almost smiled.

"You're being really naïve, you know that?" he said with a cold smile.

"And what's _that _supposed to mean?" I asked.

"He's just using you."

At this, I jumped to my feet and shouted, "How _dare_ you?!"

"In any case, he's way too old," he said, obviously enjoying himself as he saw me swell with anger.

"Oh, shut up, Ron!"

"You shouldn't have gone with him!" he said angrily, with a hint of passion mixed in.

At this point we were feet apart from each other, yelling across the distance between us, both with furious expressions on our faces.

"Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?" I yelled at him. I was vaguely aware of Harry opening the portrait hole and entering the common room.

"Oh yeah?" Ron shouted back. "What's that?"

"Next time there's a ball, ask me before somebody else does, and not as a last resort!"

I turned on my heel and stormed up the girls' staircase to my dormitory (that's all I seem to do lately, isn't it?).

Now, in my dormitory, my hair is down and it is definitely regaining its bushiness, my mascara is streaked down my face from the angry tears I have shed, and I have replaced my frilly blue dress robes with a comfy dressing gown. I am sitting on my bed, just thinking back on the events of the past few weeks, and I am _not_ happy.

How could he have done this to me? I had been counting on him to ask me to the ball, not stupid Viktor! I mean, he's really nice and he seems to like me, but he's not Ron. I hate to admit it, but he's not Ron, and _I_ _need Ron._

I tried to quash those feelings as I danced with Viktor, as he kissed my hand, as he whispered nice things in my ear. I could _not_ be thinking those things when I was spending the whole night with _the_ Viktor Krum, international Quidditch star. But I really couldn't help it.

Those arms around my waist were supposed to have been Ron's. Those lips lightly brushing my hand should have been Ron's (although, really, would Ron have _ever_ done that?). It wasn't natural to me, being with Viktor. The whole night, I had to force myself not to look over at him, not to hope that he would come and politely tap Viktor on the shoulder and ask if he could cut in. Because Ron doesn't want me. Why would he? Although I suppose if _Viktor Krum_ found me attractive, I guess anyone could. But Ron doesn't.

I hate him, but I think I'm in love with him.


	4. The Cow

A/N: I know no one's interested in any of my sorry excuses, but I've got them written down if anyone would like to hear them

_A/N: I know no one's interested in any of my sorry excuses, but I've got them written down if anyone would like to hear them! Here's sixth year…my, what has Ron done now?_

_**Disclaimer: I probably should have done this from the beginning, because I use a lot of material from the book, but as much as I wish I did, I do not own anything Harry Potter. The almighty JKR gets all the credit for that one.**_

**Chapter 4**

How could he?

I cannot _believe_ him!

There really are no words to describe how empty and awful I feel right now. I want to gouge my eyes out with a watermelon-baller, maybe that will make me forget the _horrible_ sight I just saw.

I don't know how this happened. I thought everything was going _fine._ How could I have been so blind? How could I let myself get this emotionally involved, if apparently it was obvious who he was thinking of the _whole_ time?

I thought I was pretty forward with my intentions. I mean, doesn't asking someone to go with you to party constitute as showing my feelings for him? And doesn't him accepting mean he _returns_ those feelings?

When I got to Ron's house in the summer before term started, was I just imagining his excited expression as I walked through the door of the Burrow? Was I misinterpreting his hug that had seemed to say a lot more than words could at the time? Could I have dreamt up his staring gaze over the next two days before Harry arrived? It really seemed to me that we were moving forward, even in those two days. I mean, degnoming a garden isn't the romantic activity that I usually picture, but we were doing it together. Our skin seemed to be in contact a lot more often, whether it was just a friendly poke or bumping our knees together under the dinner table or a hasty hug. All the same, I was getting some signals there, but apparently I was the only one.

When Harry arrived at the Burrow, we were much more guarded around each other. We didn't even know exactly what was going on between us, so we couldn't just go spilling everything to Harry. Although I think he did have a little knowing glint in his eye that I chose to ignore….

Nonetheless, I talked endlessly about him with Ginny, which I would have thought she would be weird about, but she was just excited for me. A little bit in shock, too, it was true, but I also chose to ignore that.

I was happy when it came time to go to Hogwarts again. Things were getting a little tense for me at the Burrow, with all the fleeting glances and not acting on our feelings, just being nervous and awkward around each other. I needed something good to distract me, and loads of homework would definitely do the trick.

Another reason I was excited about going to school was because on the Hogwarts Express, I would see all my friends, like Luna and Neville, along with Harry, Ron, and Ginny. There was going to be my prefect time all alone with Ron… _and_ all the other prefects, including Draco and the _cow_. So maybe not _so _romantic, but at least it wouldn't be awkward, right?

When we finally got to Hogwarts, I had a million things to worry about, which was good for me, as worrying was my lifetime hobby. There was the prophecy that Harry had finally enlightened us with that was constantly on my mind, because how do you just forget about something like that?—and Harry getting his nose stamped on by Malfoy, Tonks getting all depressed, all this 'Chosen One' crap, Hagrid being upset that we had all dropped his class, Harry coming up with his 'Malfoy is a Death Eater' theory, all our N.E.W.T. classes, and on top of that, when Ron was being his regular arsehole, Lavender giggled.

She _giggled._ And it wasn't an "Oh, I just think something is hysterically funny" giggle. She was giggling an "Oh, Ron you just made the stupidest joke ever, but I'll laugh anyway because you are extremely handsome and manly and attractive and adorable" giggle. She _fancied him!_

And the worst part is, he noticed! _And_ he smiled that goofy smile of his that pretty much makes me melt, except he was smiling because of what _she_ did! When did he start _noticing_ things like that? He was supposed to be completely and utterly _oblivious._ Whenever I attempted my abysmal flirty laugh or smile on him, he just looked at me like there was something stuck in my teeth from lunch and I hadn't noticed it. He just _never _got it! Except when _Lavender_ laughs flirtatiously at something he's said, he suddenly gets all "I know I'm hot, I'm just pretending not to acknowledge it, and I'm glad that finally _someone_ I know appreciates my good looks."

As if there wasn't enough on my plate at the moment, more bad things seemed to drop from the Great Hall ceiling into my already full and steadily ripping school bag. Already I was loaded with damn Ancient Runes homework, and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes that somehow fell into the power of Snape, who ominously achieved his supposed life goal of teaching the subject. Potions class…well, gird your loins, cause this is a kind of long story.

I was really excited about Potions because finally Snape wasn't teaching it anymore. I was eager to see how well Professor Slughorn taught, whether he was nice or not. Slughorn had set up three huge cauldrons of different potions, and I quickly identified them all as I walked to my seat. My excitement was mounting, and I hadn't been in the room for two minutes. I could already tell I would love this lesson.

Professor Slughorn began the lesson with asking the room at large if anyone knew what the potions were called. I, of course, was the first to raise my hand. I rattled off the names to him, and when I came to the third one, Amortentia, I almost embarrassed myself to the degree that I literally would have died. If embarrassment would not take my life, then I certainly would.

Slughorn was immediately impressed with me, I could tell, beaming internally with immense satisfaction. He called on me again when I raised my hand to identify the third potion.

"It's Amortentia!" I replied, excited.

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," he said, smiling, impressed, up at me, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" I cried, thrilled.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," I added enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and— "

I immediately cut myself off.

Oh. My. Freaking. God. What had I almost done? No one, I repeat no one, could know what else I smelled when I encountered the aroma of Amortentia. I mean, I had already made myself seem enough of a helpless nerd, what with the freshly mown grass—I mean, who is attracted to the smell of grass?—and parchment? What was I thinking? If the five previous years had not convinced them that I was a book-obsessed freak without a life, the attraction to new parchment just did. I couldn't add the smell of my best friend's hair to the list, could I? At least not out loud, especially when said best friend was sitting right next to me. God, I'm such a freak.

I could feel my face burning up slightly, but Slughorn paid no attention. He simply asked me my name. When he discovered that I was Muggle-born, I was delighted to hear that he had already heard of me through Harry, who paid me an astonishing compliment by mentioning that I was the smartest in the year. And then I earned Gryffindor twenty points. Oh yeah, I rock.

I turned to Harry and whispered, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!" I was really flattered.

"What's so impressive about that?" said Ron huffily. "You _are_ the best in the year—I'd have told him so if he'd ask me!"

Was Ron really jealous of Harry for complimenting me? No, I had to be imagining it. But I _so _wished it was true.

I smiled and shushed him and turned back to pay attention to the class. I was rather pleased to see that Ron looked _really_ annoyed.

And then my good mood was sapped right out of me when Harry dishonestly stole my place as best of Potions. I was really pissed about that. But there really wasn't much I could do except to get Harry to stop using the book. Like that was going to happen.

Our workload was constantly rising, and nonverbal spells were pretty much required in every class. I was so stressed, so weekends were my bliss in this overly stressful environment I constantly lived in. On this particular weekend, Harry had scheduled Quidditch tryouts for the Gryffindor team, and I knew he and Ron were pretty riled up about it, nerves and excitement waging a constant battle inside them both.

At breakfast that morning we were discussing the tryouts and trying to decide when would be a good time to talk to Hagrid, and Harry was wondering aloud about the number of people that had signed up to tryout.

"Oh, come on, Harry," I said impatiently. He had to have realized it by now! "It's not _Quidditch_ that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable."

Ron, the idiot, began gagging on a piece of kipper. I glanced at him in annoyance and turned back to Harry.

"Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding World has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they're call you 'the Chosen One'—well, come one, can't you see why people are fascinated by you?"

I could see Harry's face growing hot. Ah, always the humble one, Harry. I used his silence as an opening to continue.

"_And_ you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand that that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway…."

Ron, being the insensitive, totally non-perceptive wart that he was, didn't realize that this was "compliment-Harry-time," and cut in with his own, "You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look," while shaking back his sleeves to give proof of his injuries.

I ignored Ron and plowed on. "And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer either," I finished.

"I'm tall," said Ron defensively. The prat.

The post arriving sufficiently ended the conversation. The news in the mail of Stan Shunpike brought on a bout of Ministry-bashing, and that discussion remained the dominant one until we set out for the Quidditch field.

On our way out the Great Hall, we passed Parvati and Lavender. Parvati nudged Lavender, and when she looked up and saw Ron, she gave Ron a big smile. I wanted to punch her perfect face in. What was worse was Ron _returning_ the smile, and swaggering out of the place with his "I know I'm hot, and I'm glad that finally _someone_ I know appreciates my good looks" strut. When he reached the pitch, I stalked off to the stands, not bothering to wish Ron good luck.

That bastard.

A lot of people showed up to the Quidditch tryout, just as I had known they would. A sizable portion of them were not even _from_ Gryffindor! I saw Harry talking to a tall, brawny seventh year with wiry hair, but he didn't really look as if he was enjoying the conversation. Soon, Harry turned away from the boy and sent him to my side of the pitch to await his tryout. As he flew in my direction, I caught the words, "How many Weasleys can be _on _this team? They can't really have _that _much talent. They probably only got on because of their connections, 'cause come on, they obviously didn't _buy_ their way in."

I seethed with anger. This bloke could _not _get on the team. Who would _want_ him?

Harry sent groups to fly around the pitch, and quickly eliminated half of the entrants. Many people, I could tell, were not very pleased at his rejection. He had to do a lot of shouting to get the tryouts to move along.

Finally it was time for the Keeper tryouts. I was bouncing up and down in my seat, already jittery with nerves. I hoped Ron would do well. None of the first few people trying out were very good. This eased my nerves a little. This way, there was less competition for Ron. If he was confident that he could do it, he would be fine.

Then that seventh year Harry had been annoyed with got his turn at the hoops. To my great disappointment he succeeded in blocking one, two, three, four goal shots. I had to do something, or else Ron would definitely not get on the team. I could only imagine how hard he would be to live with if this happened, and he loved being on the team; it really made him happy—most of the time. Anyway, it was time to resort to drastic measures. I had to think fast. What could I do? I had to make sure that seventh year did not make the last block.

An idea occurred to me and I smiled to myself as I took out my wand and took careful aim at the boy's back, which was facing me. It was almost _too_ easy. He was only around ten feet away from me. I whispered hastily, "_Confundo!_" as the Quaffle was chucked toward the left hoop. The spell hit him just in time. He swerved violently to the right, missing the Quaffle by a mile. I laughed delightedly at his burning expression as he dismounted his broom and waited for Ron to tryout. Now all that was left to hope for was a stellar performance by Ron, who looked like he was going to piss himself.

As he mounted his broom, I heard a distant "Good luck!" just as I was about to utter one myself. My head swiveled around to find the source of the call, and I found Lavender burying her face in her hands. That _cow_.

I watched anxiously as Ron ascended in the air toward the goal posts, my desire for him to get on the team was even greater now that I was enraged at Lavender. It turned out that all my worrying was for nothing, because Ron breezed through all five shots, blocking them easily.

That seventh year stormed up to Harry, looking extremely angry. I began to feel a little guilty about cheating but I overruled my guilt with the thought, _Well, if it makes Ron happy, and not a grumpy grouch all the time, I should be glad. _I tried not to think about what I had done. It's not healthy to dwell on things.

Then I saw Ron looking extremely pleased with himself. I knew I had to get down there fast to congratulate him before Lavender got to him first. I ran flat out to Harry and Ron, and I told him that he had done brilliantly, which earned me a huge smile from Ron, and I could only guess that it inflated his ego to the max. What gave me the greatest satisfaction was the sight of Lavender leaving the pitch with Parvati, a rather grumpy expression etched on her face. I smirked. Served her right.

On our way to Hagrid's, I was almost given away when Ron contemplated aloud what the hell had been going through McLaggen's (the seventh year boy) head, and wondered if he had been Confunded. I felt my face going a deep shade of pink, and I Harry shot me a suspicious look. Damn him.

After we finally convinced Hagrid that we didn't hate his guts and got him to forgive us, we discovered that that horrible pet spider of Hagrid's, Aragog, was dying. Add that to the list of things I have to worry about this year. God, this list is getting so bloody long.

When we arrived at dinner, we saw McLaggen entering the Hall, and he had to try twice to actually get through the doors without bumping his head on the frame. Harry held me back as Ron entered the Great Hall, swaggering again, and whispered in my ear, "If you ask me, McLaggen looks like he _was_ Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting."

Damn him.

I blushed. "Oh, all right then, I did it," I admitted guiltily. "But you should have heard how he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he's got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn't get in—you wouldn't have wanted someone like that on the team."

"No," Harry allowed. "No, I suppose that's true. But wasn't that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you're a prefect, aren't you?"

"Oh, be quiet."

He smirked at me.

Ron called to us to come, and Slughorn cornered Harry and me about eating dinner that night in his office. He ignored Ron. I felt a pang of pity for my friend, but he was probably the lucky one out of the three of us. I could only imagine eating dinner in Slughorn's office…and McLaggen was going to be there! As if I needed _that._

Of course Ron, being the jealous freak that he is, was upset about not getting an invite. Whatever, let him be baby about it.

More worries rolled around the corner. Harry had yet to give up his ridiculous theory about Malfoy, Mundungus stole Harry's possessions from Sirius's house, and Katie Bell underwent some deadly curse by a cursed necklace, and Harry's belief in Malfoy being a Death Eater heightened because of this event. Seriously, I needed to have less stuff to worry about. How could I have wanted stressful things before?

Herbology class. That's where it all happened. At least that's where it _really _started. We had just begun recovering Snargaluff pods from their stumps, and Ron, Harry, and I were discussing Harry's most recent "lesson" with Dumbledore.

As we were donning all our protective gear (seriously, any plant that involves wearing a gum shield to protect ourselves from it should _not _be allowed to be studied. I mean, where in life are we going to have to remove a Snargaluff pod and just _happen_ to have a gum shield in our pockets?), Harry mentioned Slughorn's parties, and I told Harry about the Christmas party the professor was throwing, and how he would not be able to worm his way out of this one as he had with all the others.

Ron's mood and expression darkened instantly at the mention of Slughorn's Christmas party. While he attempted to burst a Snargaluff pod he snarled, "And this is another party just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?"

"Just for the Slug Club, yes," I affirmed.

The struggling pod slipped out of his grasp, and Harry went to retrieve it across the greenhouse. Ron looked at me, trying not laugh, I could tell. "_The Slug Club?_" he asked incredulously. "What the hell kind of a rubbish name is _that?_"

I hadn't noticed Harry's return to our table as I said, annoyed, "Look, _I_ didn't make up the name 'Slug Club'—"

"'_Slug Club,_'" he repeated with a sneer. "It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug—"

Excuse me? _Hook up with McLaggen?_ How much of a wart could he be? I didn't want to go with _McLaggen_, I wanted to go with some certain _other_ boy. Was he _that _thick?

"We're allowed to bring guests," I said huffily as my face grew more and more red by the second, "and I was _going _to ask you to come, but if you think it's that stupid then I won't bother!"

Wait. Did I just say that out _loud_? Did I just ask _Ron Weasley out?_ Oh, my bloody Lord, I think I did. Wonderful. Just peachy. Now everyone knows that I fancy Ron and I'm going to be humiliated out of my bloody life.

Harry had returned with the pod and was now beating it mercilessly, trying to get it to bloody _burst_ already, but I paid him no mind. I was staring apprehensively at Ron.

He looked softened, almost vulnerable. "You were going to ask me?"

Of course, you thick-headed arse! Who else would I want to go with?

"Yes," I said heatedly. "But obviously if you'd rather I _hooked up with McLaggen…_"

Harry was still going at that pod.

"No, I wouldn't," Ron said quietly.

Did that mean yes? Did he just say that he'd go with me?

We were aroused from our little bubble when Harry hit the glass bowl with his trowel instead of that bleeding pod, and suddenly I was hyper-aware of Harry's presence. He had heard all that. Oh, God.

I felt his stare on me and immediately began flipping through the pages of my Herbology book to find out how to burst that _damn _pod already.

For the next few days, Ron and I sort of acted around each other the way we did at the Burrow, only this was much worse. We both agreed to go together to Slughorn's party, but we weren't clearly defined as a couple or anything. This made our relationship very confusing. Neither of us really knew how to act, so we kind of reverted to our old routine of playing footsies under the dinner table, or shooting each other shy glances and immediately looking away when we realized the other had noticed. We made a special effort not to bicker about pointless things. I thought that this party would be a turning point in our relationship, and hopefully for the good. I'd just have to wait until to party to see how things would turn out.

One night, a couple days before the first Quidditch match of the season, Harry and Ron returned from Quidditch practice, and I can only imagine that it had gone badly because Ron stormed into the common room and stalked straight for his dormitory with a very angry expression indeed on his face. As he passed I thought I heard him grumble something that sounded like "Auntie Muriel." I didn't really know what to think of that, so I just brushed it off. Harry, too walked straight to his dormitory, but it wasn't anger that flashed across his face, it was…well, a mixture of things. He kind of looked bewildered, sad, and maybe there was just a hint of anger there too.

I couldn't come up with any explanation for either of their peculiar behaviors, and I tried not to think of it when I slid into bed later that night. _It's probably not a big deal,_ I thought sleepily as I yawned deeply and closed my eyes.

How wrong I was.

I still don't know what exactly I could have done wrong, but the next morning Ron was talking to me as if I had just killed his mother or something. That is, whenever he actually talked to me.

I was just sitting at the breakfast table in the Great Hall waiting for Ron and Harry to grace me with their presence (honestly, the lazy arses, dragging themselves out of bed five minutes before classes start every morning), and Ron walked up to me with a blank, yet icy expression on his face. He sat opposite me and uttered a cold, "'Morning" in my direction before turning to his bacon. He did not say another word to me, even when I made feeble attempts at conversation. I honestly did not know what had gotten into him. I scanned my memory of the past few days, and all I found was more of the same: shy smiles and bumping knees. What had I done wrong?

Every night after that, I went to bed either near tears, or actually flat out sobbing, because of the awful way Ron had spoken to me, if he actually spoke to me at all. I didn't understand why he was acting this way, and why the sudden change of heart. Hell, I still don't! One day we were acting in that way that almost-couples do, and the next he was being the most hurtful arse in the world!

By the morning of the Quidditch match, Ron's attitude had not changed. If anything, it worsened. When I entered the Great Hall, I walked up warily to Ron and Harry and said cautiously, "How are you both feeling?" I eyed the back of Ron's head, wondering what emotion was currently occupying his expression.

Harry answered for both of them, "Fine," as he poured Ron a glass of pumpkin juice. For some reason he looked like he was concentrating really hard. I wondered why it was so hard for him to pour a glass of juice. Maybe he was nervous and was being careful not to spill anything. But that theory was shot to hell the second I saw a flash of gold in a flask that was being stowed hurriedly under the table in Harry's hand.

Oh my God. That was Felix Felicis. Was Harry honestly _cheating?_ Would he stop at nothing to make sure Gryffindor won? That didn't sound like the Harry I knew. Maybe he was determined to look good in the first game of his Captaincy, but Harry just _wouldn't _do that. I knew him, or at least I had thought I did.

He handed the glass of pumpkin juice to Ron with a smile and a "There you go, Ron. Drink up."

I said quickly before the glass reached Ron's lips, "Don't drink that Ron!"

Both of my own personal idiots looked up at me, Ron's features confused, and Harry's overly innocent. "Why not?" Ron asked.

I glared at Harry. I could not _believe_ him. "You just put something in that drink."

"Excuse me?" Harry said, looking politely confused.

Oh, so now he was going to deny it to my face?

"You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said steadily, and I could have sworn that I saw him quickly sneaking the bottle into the pocket of his robes.

Ron was watching our exchange in perplexity. He still had not drunk the spiked drink. I had to stop him. "Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!"

The stupid git chose to completely ignore my warning, and he swallowed the juice in one gulp, belched, and said, "Stop bossing me around, Hermione."

I was enraged. I whispered to Harry, "You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!"

"Hark who's talking," he shot back at me. "Confunded anyone lately?"

I stormed away from him, disgusted. Okay, he had a point, but not really. Confunding McLaggen wasn't _illegal!_

The Quidditch game went by perfectly for Gryffindor. Ron saved everything (obviously). I fumed every time he stopped the Quaffle from going in one of the hoops. Harry caught the Snitch spectacularly, but I couldn't find it in myself to be happy about this particular victory of Gryffindors. I was too angry.

When the game ended I went down to the changing rooms to yell at Harry some more. How could he have done something so low?

I entered the changing rooms to see Harry and Ron looking particularly delighted with themselves. This only angered me further.

"I want a word with you, Harry," I said determinedly. You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, it's illegal."

"What are you going to do?" said Ron haughtily. "Turn us in?"

So he had caught on to Harry's despicable actions. And he wasn't angry about it? God, what had gotten _into_ the two of them?

"What are you two talking about?" asked Harry. He turned his back to us, and I'm sure he had one of those mischievous smiles on.

Oh, so he was going to continue this game?

"You know perfectly well what we're talking about!" I said, and my voice turned shrilly in my anger. "You spiked Ron's juice with lucky potion at breakfast! Felix Felicis!"

"No, I didn't," he said, turning back to face Ron and me.

So he was going to lie to my _face_ now, was he? Where had my honest friend gone?

"Yes, you did, Harry, and that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!"

"I didn't put it in!" said Harry with a smile on his face. He took out the same bottle of gold liquid from his pocket and showed it to me. The flask was full and the waxy seal on the bottle was intact. How was that possible? I saw him pouring the liquid! Well, I didn't really see him pouring it, but I definitely saw him holding it. Maybe… "I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking." He turned to Ron. "You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself."

He returned the potion to his pocket.

Ron looked…confused to say the least. "There really wasn't anything in my pumpkin juice?" He looked astounded. "But the weather's good…and Vaisey couldn't play….I honestly haven't been given lucky potion?"

Harry shook his head, the smirk still plastered on his face. Ron then turned abruptly on me, his expression mocking, "_You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything!"_ he said, with a really horrible imitation of my voice. "See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!"

Oh my bloody god, I can't talk without setting him off. I was only trying to protect him!

"I never said you couldn't—Ron, _you_ thought you'd been given it too!"

But, as usual, he simply ignored me and did that stupid swagger out of the changing rooms while I stared after him.

That left Harry and I in an icy, uncomfortable silence. "Er, shall…shall we go up to the party, then?"

The last thing I felt like doing right then was partying. I turned to him with tears in my eyes and said, "You go! I'm _sick_ of Ron at the moment, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done…"

I stormed out of the changing room and back up to the castle. I felt like curling up in my bed, hopefully the noise from the party wouldn't keep me up. I couldn't believe the pair of them. Okay, so maybe Harry hadn't given Ron the potion, but it only ended up causing problems, but what wasn't? God, if I complimented Ron on something, he'd find some way of turning it around to make it seem like condescension rather that admiration. I couldn't do anything right anymore! Everything I said was just used against me!

I'd pretty much given up on our whole friendship by the time I reached the common room, which was full of celebrating Gryffindors. As I made my way toward the girls' staircase, I saw something that made me throw up a little inside my mouth. There they were: the _cow_ and the boy I was constantly angry with, but loved with every fiber of my being since our encounter with that troll in first year. I may not have realized it then, but I sure knew it now. This sight was the last straw added to the already unsteady tower of things that Ron had done to hurt me these past five and some odd years. This last little bit was the thing that sent that tower crashing down, and it seemed to fall directly onto my head. I felt faint as I saw her wrapped around him, and him wrapped around _her._ I had to get out of there. I ran with as much speed that was available to me in my sluggish, shocked state. I didn't care where I went, as long as I was far away from him.

I found the first empty classroom and entered it. I walked to the desk and sat on top of it. That's where I am right now, sulking over lost love and all that crap. My brain has pretty much turned to mush at this point. I conjure up a ring of little birds that make a halo over my head. They are my only company right now, and believe it or not, they really help to comfort me.

I hear the door of the classroom opening and see Harry bursting through it. "Hermione?" he says uncertainly.

"Oh, hello Harry," I say in that voice that you hear whenever someone is close to tears. I indicate to the ring of birds above my head. "I was just practicing."

He obviously does not know what to say to me, because he resorts to saying, "Yeah…they're—er—really good…."

I wonder why he's here and not at the party. Then I realize that he must have seen Ron and _the cow_ and wanted to avoid them. When I speak again, my voice is high-pitched and barely recognizable. "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations."

"Er…does he?"

"Don't pretend you didn't see him," I said sadly. "He wasn't exactly hiding it, was—?"

I am cut off when the door of the classroom bangs open. And who should enter it but Ron Weasley, dragging _the cow_ by her hand into the classroom. He's giggling like an idiot.

"Oh," he stops when he sees me and Harry.

"Oops!" squeals _the cow_, and she backs out of the room giggling just like Ron, and the door swings shut after her.

I think the silence that ensues could go down in the Book of World Records for Most Awkward Silence, if the Book of World Records actually recorded the awkwardness of silences. You could cut this silence with a knife, it's that thick. Ron, being the insensitive and totally oblivious wart that he is and always has been, says, "Hi, Harry! Wondered where you'd got to!"

I've had enough. I slide off the desk, and the little flock of birds circling my head follows me. I turn to Ron before I exit the classroom and say icily, "You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside. She'll wonder where you've gone."

I gather all my dignity and walk slowly out of the room with my nose in the air. He can do whatever he wants with _the cow_. I don't have any claim to him whatsoever. This is the end of our friendship. I had thought that we were finally going somewhere, but I was painstakingly wrong.

I'm almost numb now, but I know that soon, I will have to endure the most pain I have ever experienced in my life, because I _have_ lost love.

I want him to feel the pain that I will inevitably feel. I want to smack him across the face, maybe get a good kick in the groin. I want to…I want to…_pelt him with birds…_


End file.
